Free Yesterday's Shadow by Jon Cleary

had jilted her? Then her gaze focused and she looked at Gail and said, “What?”
    â€œInspector Malone asked you a question,” said Gail.
    â€œOh.” Then she looked at him again, this time almost impersonally. He repeated his question and she said, “Yes, a man.”
    â€œCan you describe him?”
    She shook her head. “Only vaguely. A taxi pulled up and he tried to grab it. But I got the door open first—” Now she gave him a very personal look, leaning forward. “I wasn't thinking too clearly, Scobie—you can understand that, can't you? You must know how in shock I was?”
    He didn't ask how he was expected to know: he knew.
    He said nothing, and she went on, “Why do you want to know about the man?”
    â€œThe other murder?” said Rosie Quantock, who had been silent too long.
    â€œWould you recognize him again if you saw him?” Malone said.
    â€œWould it help you if I did?”
    â€œHold on a minute,” said Pam Morrow. “You're not using Delia as a witness to that case while we're still talking about her own case.”
    â€œNo, I'd like to help,” said Delia, looking directly at Malone as if they were alone in the room.
    She's too eager, he thought. But he said, “Go on.”
    â€œHe was, I dunno, medium-sized. Not as tall as you, not as beefy—”
    â€œThank you.” He didn't grin, but the four women did.
    â€œWell, you're not beefy, I suppose. You haven't changed much, really. Anyhow, he was slimmer than you. Or I think he was—he was wearing an overcoat, a dark one. And a hat.”
    â€œ What sort of hat?”
    â€œI dunno. Just a hat. Not one of those broad-brimmed ones, the Akubras. I wasn't looking at him to remember him—” For the first time she sounded testy; he remembered she could get short- tempered about small things. But never the larger things, like being jilted . . . “I'll remember him if I see him again.”
    â€œIt could've been one of the hotel workers,” said Gail. “Going off duty. Do you know any of them?”
    Delia shook her head. “No. I've never been near the hotel till last night. Boris never wanted me anywhere near where he worked.”
    â€œDidn't want his mates to see he was a wife-basher,” said Rosie Quantock. “A real bastard. Bottom of the heap.”
    â€œHow long had he been working at the hotel?”
    â€œTwo—no, three months. He lost his last job—he worked for a bricklayer. They didn't get on.”
    â€œHe bashed him, too.” Mrs. Quantock couldn't help being helpful.
    â€œI think this has gone on long enough,” said Pam Morrow and snapped shut her briefcase as if to close all argument. “Are you going to charge my client?”
    â€œYes,” said Malone, not looking at Delia. “She'll be held here overnight and arraigned tomorrow morning, probably down at Liverpool Street.”
    â€œWhat about bail?”
    â€œThat'll be up to the Crown Prosecutor. We won't oppose it.”
    â€œThanks, Scobie.” Delia reached across and pressed his hand. He felt an inward flinch, but didn't draw his hand away.
    â€œHow's she gunna raise bail?” demanded Rosie Quantock. “She hasn't got a cracker, nothing.”
    â€œDo you own your own house?” asked Gail.
    It was Mrs. Quantock who answered, with a loud dry cackle. “She's renting, for Crissake! She'd have trouble raising a hundred dollars—”
    â€œ Rosie, please—”
    â€œNo, love. This is no time for bloody embarrassment. That arsehole's given you nothing—”
    Malone turned to Pam Morrow. “Can the Women's Protection League help?”
    â€œWe'll see. We'll plead self-defence, so maybe the beak will be lenient. If he is, we can cover it.”
    Malone stood up, switched off the recorder. “I'm sorry, Delia.”
    She looked up at him. “For what?”
    He left that